Nomah's Land
by Angel Starbeam
Summary: Mason and George sit around a campfire and have a conversation with one of thier reaps a girl who is curious about them and the existence of grim reapers. Please Review
1. A Alvarado

Title: Nomah's Land

Author: Thytruthiswon

Characters: Mason, George

Rating: PG

Word Count: 947

Disclaimer: I do not own 'Dead Like Me.' MGM & Showtime does, and Bryan Fuller created it. Trust me, if I did own it, Bryan Fuller would've had full creative freedom and the show might have gone longer then two seasons.

Chapter 1: A. Alvarado

It was hard to find ground that was dry enough to start a fire, but a dry patch that was hidden from the rains was found. The campfire was quite simple; it was jumped start by a bottle of vodka that George snatched from Mason. Stones surrounded it, to keep it contained and controlled, and a good number of wood to keep it maintain, burning and thus giving warmth and light against the cold darkness of the rest of the woods. Yet it was wild. The fire flickered and flared, with colors of red, orange, and golden yellow at the edges.

George watched the campfire, concentrated on its movements. Fire was the opposite of Water. She hoped it would hypnotize her, make her mindless, so that no thoughts could enter into her head, that way…

SNAP!

George jumped a little at the noise, ending her self-induced trance. She looked up and saw Mason, who just sat next to her. She stayed, deciding not to ask what he did to make the noise.

She wasn't totally sure as to why, but she didn't want him to leave. Maybe it was because they were out in the woods, and even though it was a campsite, it was friggin' scary at night, so having company around was needed. Or maybe she didn't want him to leave because if he wandered off, it'd be a safe bet that he would get lost and she would have to go look for him before he get into anymore trouble. Or maybe, and this must be it, it was because of how much their reaps had gotten to her, and now she could use a familiar face.

Their reaps were camp group of thirteen kids, and two chaperones. The kids were complaining on just about everything, and in short, brats. They were kids she would've been tempted to throw eggs at. They deserved to be egged, not to die by drowning in a flash flood. And she let it happen.

George thought she had gotten through with that, with those feelings. Feelings that her reaps were her victims, being powerless to Death and basically its bitch. She thought she had gotten to the point that she can believe that being a reaper wasn't so bad.

Then this happened. Those kids' deaths and it all came back. She was a grim reaper and doomed to be in the big circle of death for an unknown time.

George felt her eyes tearing up, and a lone tear made its way down. She lowered her head, and caught sight of Mason's usually gloved hands. If Mason was affected by this like she was, she didn't know. He'd been doing this for almost forty years, so maybe he is immune to it all. He can turn his back and was fine about doing nothing about it. Or maybe because he drank anything alcoholic and did every drug he could get his hands on, and on a daily basis, he wasn't sober enough for it to get to him. For her, she wasn't used to it and she hated it.

She also didn't know if Mason notice she was crying, but they both noticed that another decided to join them.

It was one of their reaps; a girl in a camp uniform, with a round face, large eyes, framed by long dark curly hair. She was of average build and height, probably taller than George but to George, she seemed so…small.

"Hi," the girl said quietly.

Mason acknowledged the girl with a smile while George gave a wave and didn't take her eyes at her. The girl sat down and brought her knees to her chest.

"The others left," she said quietly.

"You'll leave too, eventually." Mason muttered.

"I know, but not right now," she said.

The reapers decided not to comment.

The girl then questioned, "You guys have names?"

George snapped, "That's a stupid question."

The girl retorted, "Well, what are they?"

"George," George replied.

"George what?"

The girl had a peculiar determination on knowing the names of her reapers, and stubborn. Tired, George replied, "George Lass."

The girl then looked expectantly at Mason, who in turn confessed, "Kenneth Mason."

"Angie Alvarado." She sat up and then asked, "So what are you guys? Are you like 'Angels of Death'?

Mason snorted, "We're grim reapers."

"You mean the black robes and scythe, pale horses?"

"No, they're in the cleaners from our last case," George quipped.

Angie looked obviously that she didn't get it.

George decided to explain, "We take people's souls before they die, and then we stay with them until they're ready to go."

"Go where?"

"Wherever, we don't know, we just do our part."

"How come?"

"Because if we don't, the souls go bad."

"How can a soul go bad? What happens to them?"

George grieved an aggravated sigh and Mason stepped in.

"They just do, and it's not pretty." He said, "Besides if you died, would you want to stay in your corpse or go to the lights?"

"Yeah, about the lights, what's the deal with them?" Angie said, "I thought if you die, that's it. Or you would wake up somewhere else."

Mason and George turn to each other. Neither had an answer, and both knew it probably gonna be a long night.


	2. Cremation or Casket?

Title: Nomah's Land

Author: Angel Starbeam

Rating: PG

Characters: George, Mason

Word Count: 1211

Disclaimer: I do not own 'Dead Like Me.' MGM & Showtime does, and Bryan Fuller created it. Trust me, if I did own it, Bryan Fuller would've had full creative freedom and the show might have gone longer then two seasons.

Chapter 2: Cremation or Casket?

"If I stick around long enough, can I go over to my funeral?"

The question was quite an odd thing to ask. In normal company, that question would have never been asked. This was not normal company, so it was asked by a recently deceased thirteen-year-old girl. And the reply was a united, resounded, "No."

Angie's inquisitive young face turned to frown, "How come? Is that a rule; you can't go to your funeral?"

George heaved a sigh, "Look, we explained this. You have to go to your lights before times up. If you don't, you'll be stuck here, or something else bad could happen."

"Okay, no funeral," Angie said annoyingly.

Mason quirked an eyebrow, "Why do you want to go to your funeral anyway?"

Angie gave a shrugged, "Don't know. Just want to see my family I guess. I mean, they're probably gonna take it harder than I am."

George thought about Angie's reply, and of her parents, their divorce, Reggie, and her toilet seat tree. Their house finally been sold and now her mom and sister live somewhere else. A somewhere else she doesn't know the address to.

"Yeah, my family didn't take it so well with my death either. My mom cried her eyes out at the funeral." _Then she sold my stuff._

"You had funerals?"

"After we died, yeah."

"So you guys were once human? And you got to go to your funerals?" Angie asked with her button nose scrunched up.

Mason smirked, "We still are humans, just undead."

"Okay, how did you become grim reapers?" Angie questioned, "Were you chosen or something?"

The reapers gave patented _Are You Stupid? _looks, before George said, " Bad luck, I guess. The 'how we got chosen' part isn't something we're told."

_Except the fact that our reaper gets to leave and we get stuck with their suck-ass job. _

"Maybe we get picked out of a hat." Mason said, "You know, totally random."

_Grim Lottery_, George thought, and rubbed her neck.

Angie resigned to their clueless state, "So how were your funerals?"

George thought back to the day when Rube and Betty took her over to her house, to say "goodbye" to her old life, "The usual I guess. Everyone said how sorry they were, and how I was so full of life."

"Did you get to wear something nice?"

"I'm not sure. I was blown up, so I had a closed casket," George replied, added, "But I died wearing a black suit, so I came in that. That was nice, I guess."

"I was in a suit," Mason piped up, "which was the only time my parents got in me into one in ten years."

"I hope I'll wear my favorite dress," Angie said in a faraway tone, "it's really pretty, blue and has these diamonds on the front."

George tried to imagine the blue dress, "You can't wear blue to a funeral."

Angie looked over to her direction, as if pondering her sort of insensitive remark.

"Then my white one, I wore to my graduation." She then tilted her head, "My aunt made it for me."

"That's more appropriate," Mason said, "White's another color for death. Chinese wear it for their funerals."

"I thought it was color for purity, and that sort of thing," George debated, and Angie nodded, agreeing with her.

"That's the Western view love. The Asians think it's for death and spirits." Mason continued, "I think it's because bodies go all white and pale after a while."

_Where does he come up with this stuff? _

"So it's completely okay for me to wear my white dress to my funeral." Angie said with triumph, then with a grimace, said, "I hope they think so too."

"Maybe they will," George reassured, "Since we're on requests, is there anywhere you'll like to be buried?"

"I don't think I'll be buried," She replied, "I bet I'll be cremated. My dad talks about that. He doesn't believe our corpse should take up so much room."

"What about you?" George asked, "How do you feel about it?"

"I guess it won't be so bad. It's not like I'm gonna feel it, right? Plus, I don't like the idea that my body will be maggot food."

"We all became dust in the end," Mason cut in, "Dust in the wind. Like the Kansas song. Not too fond of Kansas."

"My brother likes them for some reason," Angie said, tilted her head again, "How did you die?"

"Drilled a hole in my skull," Mason said it like saying "I went to the grocery store."

"Uh… why did you do that?"

_Who knew why Mason did anything he did? _

"Trying to do trepanation," he explained, "Stimulation by getting the blood to go through your head."

Angie still didn't understand. George didn't either, but Angie, not knowing Mason, questioned.

"But why drill a hole in your skull? That doesn't make sense."

"It makes sense when you had two bottles of vodka and some Acid."

The girls both had to agree. Even though George got smashed very few times, and Angie never sipped alcohol of any sort.

"Were your parents crying?"

Mason became somber, a rare occurrence. "They were disappointed, for the last time. My death was ruled as suicide. That didn't go too well with them."

George absorbed the information Mason told them. That was actually the most he had talked about his family.

"My sister was pissed off."

And that was the first time he mentioned a sister. Mason didn't go any further, and on one wanted to push him.

"I have a sister, she's a senior," Angie said, "She was mad at me."

"How come?" George found herself asking.

"I lost a necklace she let me keep," Angie answered, "But she got it over it. I was gonna surprise her with a new necklace."

"Sorry you won't be giving it to her."

Angie shrugged, "Actually, it's being mailed. Got it off on EBay. But I did wanted to be there when she would get it. I don't do a lot nice things for her."

Brief silence went into action, and Mason threw another stick into the fire.

"Do you have a sister?" Angie asked George.

"Yes," George said, "She's younger than I was. I didn't do a lot nice things for her either."

_Reggie is about your age now. I can no longer see her._

"Did she do anything at your funeral?"

"She went up to my closet for my wake," George recalled, "I went up there with her. She couldn't see me though."

"What's her name?" Angie asked then said, "My sister's Katarina, Katt for short."

Angie probably revealed her sister's name so George would tell her sister's name.

It worked.

"Reggie, Regina."

"Pretty," replied Angie, then said "I hope Katt wears her black dress to my funeral. She only has one. It's really pretty too."

"And maybe she'll wear the necklace too."


	3. A Pale Horse

Title: Nomah's Land

Author: Angel Starbeam

Disclaimer: I do not own 'Dead Like Me.' MGM & Showtime does, and Bryan Fuller created it. Trust me, if I did own it, Bryan Fuller would've had full creative freedom and the show might have gone longer then two seasons.

Chapter 3: A Pale Horse

The night sky cleared up, and became alight with stars. Revealed what was lost by light pollution. Such a night was calm and beautiful. It was the kind of night for lovers to rekindle the romance, children fall asleep to wondrous dreams and humans in general surrender to the mysticisms of the world. But for two undead grim reapers and a young ghost, it meant that the night was not over yet, and while everyone else was asleep, they were getting bored.

Angie lied on her back and tried to see if she recognized the constellations. She was able to find Orion's Belt. Mason, opting to sit up, was able to find Sirius and Ursa Major. George went to check up on the phone lines to see if they were operational again to call anyone for help.

"Hey," Angie piped up, "Since the lights come from the sky, do the dead go to space when they get their lights?"

Mason thought about it, and then said, "Space is a pretty big place so there'll be plenty of room"

He then pointed skyward," Pyxis."

"Have you gotten your lights? When you died?"

"The lights are for souls who are ready to go. You don't get them when you're a reaper." Mason said with detachment, "We get them it's our time to leave. Delphinus"

Angie, mildly piqued, glanced at the constellation that Mason pointed to.

"Doesn't look like a dolphin."

"Doesn't matter," Mason responded, "As long as it has a name." He once again pointed to the sky, "Equuleus."

"The lights were different for everyone else," Angie remembered the others. One girl, Emma Curtis, had lights had taken the form of a swing set.

"Yeah, every gets their own lights show, something they want to see." Mason remembered dead Florence that left him her house and social security checks.

He drained the checks. Well, almost. George found out a bit after he moved back in the house, and took control of them to pay for the bills. They both agreed that was his rent payment for now.

"Want do you want to see?" Angie asked, "When you get your light show?"

"Dunno," Mason replied breezily, "Probably nothing you definitely want to see."

Angie decided to agree. She even thought she probably didn't even want to know what the reaper's deepest desire to see was. But she was still curious…

"When do you get to leave?"

"When my quota's up." Mason replied nonchalant.

"What quota?" Angie asked.

"Quota of the souls I'd reaped," Mason answered, a bit somnolent.

"How many reaps do you have left?" Angie then paused and her brow furrowed, "Man that sounds so office like."

"Don't know," Mason replied, "It's another thing we just don't know. It just happens."

"No offense, but sorta sucks." Angie, "It's like they're just prolonging your life and you get to die again."

"Well, they think it's for the best," Mason said, "Whoever they are."

"So you're not bothered by it?" Angie a bit surprised, "Do you want to leave? Get your lights?"

"Actually," Mason dragged a leg to his chest," I don't want to leave, as much I didn't want to die. I just sorta accepted to it being fucked up. That and have an occasional drink."

Angie was incredulous by his reply, "But what's your reason to stay? It's like you're in limbo while the rest of the world moves past you. Why be in limbo? What good is it offering you?"

Mason didn't answer. George trekked backed into the glow of the campfire and sat down.

"Phone lines still don't work. They collapsed and broke off."

"You know, the people in charge picked this place because it was a safe place to camp." Angie remarked, "They didn't count floods obviously."

"Lovely view of the sky though. You can see all the stars." Mason pointed to the right, "Puppis and Columba."

"Do you spend all your time looking at stars?" Angie scowled at Mason.

Mason shrugged, "No, I just know them."

"He also knows Homer's Iliad," George added.

"Do you know how much sex and violence are in Greek myths? Leave it to university professors to take things that are interesting and make them mind-numbing and boring as hell."

Angie took on a pensive look. "What do you do all day? Just reap souls?"

George shook her head, "No, we still need to eat and pay the rent, so we have jobs. I'm an office assistant."

"I steal things and sell illegal substances."

Amazing what he can say with a straight face. But that's who he was. Mason was just Mason and Mason stole valuables and dealt with drugs.

"Ever got caught?" Angie asked.

Actually, a more accurate question is how many times he has been arrested.

"Do you want the total number, the times when I was alive or when I came here?"

"Total number of convictions."

"If I can remember correctly, five times, alive and dead," Mason recounted, "Last time was before I transferred here."

It was probably the reason why he was transferred here.

"Had to get my salary somehow."

"And you chose theft," Angie turned to George with a bit more respect, "And you chose to get a day job."

"Stealing from the dead was too tacky for me," George clarified, "This one guy let me have his car though."

"What kind of car?"

"A blue Mustang, great mileage."

"My sister is saving up for a Jetta," Angie said, "So Dad won't have to drive us."

Once it was out, Angie realized that once her sister finally gets the money, she'll be driving alone. Will she even want to save up anymore? Or even take the test for her license? Angie wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.

"Are you cold?" George asked. It was simple courtesy.

"No," Angie loosened her grip, "Its weird, my last thought before…you know…was I was cold. From the water. Pretty stupid, huh? I was dying and all I was thinking about was how cold I was."

"You were cold," George languidly explained, "My last thought was 'Aw Shit."

"Really?" Angie grinned, trying not to laugh at the concept.

"It was a reaction; I was killed by a toilet seat."

"It was original, no one had been killed by a flaming toilet seat," Mason smiled.

"Okay," George turned to him, "What was your last thought?"

Mason furrowed his face, as if trying to remember. He then replied, "I don't remember my exact last thought, but I do remember I kept thinking how it didn't hurt so I'll be okay."

He looked at the two teenage girls' faces, which were both perplexed.

"I was stoned." He elucidated. He then got up, his lanky form made bizarre shadows on the trees.

"Going somewhere?"

"I gotta take a piss."

"Don't get lost."

"Have a little faith Georgie-girl. I'll right behind the trees."

"Just as long we don't see it," George remarked, tilted her head to Angie, "She's been traumatized enough."

Mason and Angie both chuckled. Angie then glanced to him.

"Hey, what's that one?" Angie asked, pointing to a particular form next to Equuleus.

Mason looked up to the direction and replied, "Pegasus."

"Pegasus, the flying horse," Angie turned to George, "is George your given name or is it short for 'Georgette' or 'Georgia'?"

"Georgia," George said listlessly, watching Mason moved to the trees, and though she knew he was just behind those trees, George felt he practically disappeared.

If he gets lost, and I have to go out and find him, I'm gonna borrow Roxie's gun when we get back.

"Georgia Lass," Angie saying it as if tasting the name. "Is 'Lass' Scottish?"

George just looked at her

"You know, Lass, sounds close to Lassie." Angie exasperatedly explained her guess, then shrugged," 'Lass' isn't a common name."

"What about 'Alvarado'?"

"'Alvarado' is like 'Smith', it's very common surname," Angie said mater-factually, "it means 'dweller by the white hill, or dry land'."

"You're into etymology," George stated.

"A little, mostly names. My name is 'messenger.'"

George knew that, "Do you know 'George'?"

"It means farmer or earth worker."

"So I'm a farm girl?" George said with some disdain. She was attached to her name, with all its unusualness.

"I don't know. Were you a farm girl?"

"No, I lived in the suburbs."

Angie tilted her head, "Well to be honest, you do kinda remind me of those girls on Little House on the Prairie, except if they were in the city now."

"So I'm a prairie girl?"

"Maybe," Angie shrugged, "Maybe a Scottish prairie girl."

Georgia still frowned, then curious, "What does 'Regina' mean?"

"Queen, as in royalty."

So I'm Scottish Prairie Girl and Reggie is a Scottish Queen.

"My sister's name has two meanings," Angie went on," one is 'pure' and the other is 'torture.'"

"Pure torture?"

Angier laughed and nodded.

"She told me that. She thought it was funny," Angie ran her hand through her hair, "We both have weird sense of humor."

"You two talk a lot?"

"I guess. She says that she's my complaint box. Whatever is bothering me, I tell her. And we talk about it. Sometimes, she can be a little judgmental but she always listened."

"I never talked to my sister," George confessed.

"Why? You didn't get along?"

George looked back to the fire, "I just didn't talk to her. Didn't want to be bothered. I was pretty much like that with my parents too. It was a waste of time trying to get them to understand me so I didn't bother."

"My sister didn't understand me either but I talk a lot and she didn't. She listened. Or daydream."

"Does she seem like she's living in her head?"

Angie nodded, "Yeah, she's not very open to people. Especially we don't know. She just stands around or has her book to read."

"She sounds like a good person."

"She is, I don't have to be her sister to say it."

"What does she say about you?"

"She tells me that I'm getting less lazy and finally helping." Angie rested her chin to a palm, "But she tells everyone else that I'm out going and really pretty."

"Were you?"

"I went with my friends to the movies or hang out with them at our house. It's not I went to a party every Saturday or anything."

"I usually stayed home too," George reflected, "My mom did make me go to Garfield Park to learn how to swim."

Thanks again Mom, I didn't die by drowning.

"Garfield Park," Angie was taken aback, "You're from here?"

"Yeah, I was. Born, raised and died."

"Like a hundred years ago or just recently?"

"Recently. I'm pretty much a new kid at the whole undead reaper thing."

"There's a family next door name Lass," Angie started to braid her hair, "I thought you've were like a hundred years old or something."

George felt her heart drop and brain freeze.

"What?"

Angie looked up, holding a half made strait, "Pretty stupid to assume it. But since your friend died in the '60s and he told me that another person been at this since 1912…"

George stopped her, "The family next door."

"Oh, my next door neighbors. I don't know them too well. They just moved in. Their last name is Lass too."

This is either a big fuck up cosmic joke at my expense or a big lucky coincidence.

"Think their relatives of yours?"

"Might be," George hoped, no knew, "Where do they live?"

"Why, you want to see them? Are you allowed to do that?"

"Just tell me."

"6149 Madison Avenue, near downtown." Angie looked straight at George with forlorn, "You're not supposed to see them."

"As long as I don't talk to them, I'll be fine."

Bizarre lanky shadows appeared again. Mason sat down next to George.

"Wash your hands when we get back."

Mason grimaced, "We'll both just had a shower. Five hours in the rain. I don't blame Angie, it was fucking cold."

"Angie, does Mason mean 'one with no sense'?"

"No, it 'stone cutter'," Angie answered, "Kenneth means born of fire."

"Well, he likes to play with matches."

"It also Gaelic for 'handsome,'" Mason defended, "Which also fits me quite well."

George scoffed and Angie laughed.

"What's your middle names?"

"Liam."

"That's Irish. It's not a full definition; it has 'will, desire, helmet,' and 'protection.'"

"The desire part could fit me," Mason faced George, "Your turn."

"Lynn." George muttered.

"Georgia Lynn," Mason exaggerated, "Pretty."

"I agree," Angie said, "Its Welsh for 'lake.' But it could also be short for 'Linda,' and that means 'beautiful.'"

George felt her face warm up a few degrees Celsius.

"Georgia Lynn," Mason repeated.

"My middle name is 'Rosa,' a flower. Don't think it means anything."

"A friend of mine has rose perfume," George faced up, "Her name is Daisy. Another flower."

"Day eye."

Mason smiling, looked to the sky for more stars, and saw a shimmering. An expected shimmering.

"Hey, Look." He pointed up once again.

Angie expected another constellation or a shooting star.

"What's that?" Angie was mesmerized.

"It's your time to leave," George answered.

The area, dark and red from the fire light, was illuminated with white. They heard a whinnying sound and a great white horse with wings and a radiant aurora raced down before them. The horse was very large, with a glowing white hide and it wings were glowing the most. It stood with the wings spread out, waiting for its appointed rider.

"Pegasus is your lights?"

Angie shrugged her shoulders and grinned brightly, "I love horses"

With that, Angie ran over to the horse and jumped onto the saddle. She waved goodbye and they then rode straight to the sky. The forest became dark and red once again. Mason and George just stood silent.

Mason then pointed up to the right, "Eridanus."

Please Review


	4. Stages of Grief

Title: Nomah's Land

Author: ThyTruthisWon

Word Count: 270

Disclaimer: I do not own 'Dead Like Me.' MGM & Showtime does, and Bryan Fuller created it. Trust me, if I did own it, Bryan Fuller would've had full creative freedom and the show might have gone longer then two seasons.

Chapter 4: Stages of Grief

A family stands before a coffin. The coffin encloses a girl with dark and curly long hair, a round face and in a white dress. She looked like she was in eternal slumber.

The parents cried. Their surviving children, an elder girl and a younger boy stood silently as their parents mourned the loss of their second child. They are also sad but they cannot express it in tears. So the boy prays angrily to He Who Causes to Become, and angry at death and humans' general frailness. The girl is lost in her own mind, thinking, and fiddles with a necklace around her neck. For some reason, she thinks of Pegasus flying to the heavens.

What will happen next is not for outsiders to say. All that can be said is that the family will be mourning and move on without her.

Around the same time, a quaint little house, 6149 Madison Avenue, receives a visitor. The visitor drives by a blue Mustang, parks it by the side of the street, gets out and watches the house.

It is a young woman and she does not attempt to get any closer. She then sees something: a girl of early teen years, blonde and bespectacled. She observes the girl, taking consideration not be seen and not to be caught. After a while, she ends her visit and leaves.

She knows she will be back and whether or not that's a bad thing, she doesn't mind. This was her mourning loss, and she too will move on.

It's done. Please review. Hoped you liked it.


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